


Freaks

by redwinehouse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 07:24:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12206568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redwinehouse/pseuds/redwinehouse
Summary: Jim struggles with Sherlock's inability to forget the past and doesn't know how he can convince him to move on. It's hard to help your boyfriend overcome his nightmares when they are about you.





	Freaks

Air. Sherlock needed air. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t even scream as James Moriarty lunged at him, eyes practically bulging out of their sockets and sweat glistening on his face and dripping from his hair. Sherlock knew that if he wasn’t bound by a strait jacket and chained like a rabid dog, he would snap Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock’s back was pressed against the wall, but he quickly lost his footing as he tried to claw his way out of the room. He slid down the wall and fell onto his back. 

”Oh, well look at that,” Moriarty snarled, hovering over him, “Sherlock’s taken another fall.” 

With a choked gasp, Sherlock shot out of bed, stumbling and grabbing onto the doorframe. His hair was stuck to his damp forehead and he was ashamed to admit that he was trembling. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He needed to pull himself back together. As ready as he would ever be, Sherlock flipped on the light 

…and found nothing. He was in his bedroom and nothing was out of the place. There was no reason to be scared. 

Once his heart slowed to its regular pace, he turned and opened the door. He needed to do something to distract himself. John had recently gotten him a book about freaks, which was utterly fascinating and he was sure he could get lost in it for a few hours. It was very hard to lose your focus on a woman with four legs. 

The nightmare already fading with the promise of freaks, Sherlock made his way downstairs. 

As soon as he stepped into the living room, his gut clenched and his heart felt like it had been ripped from his body. His demon had followed him into the dark, its face alight by an icy glow and contoured by shadows. Sherlock tried to run but his muscles had frozen. The monster had trapped him in its den.

Without even a whisper, the light vanished and the monster disappeared into the shadows for a moment before there was a soft _clink!_ and Jim turned the desk light on. 

”Bad night?” he asked, pushing his closed laptop away. He looked absolutely exhausted and hadn’t even bothered to dress for bed. He put his hand in the air. “Turns out one of my casinos is Vegas was stormed because my manager was a little too talkative to an undercover prostitute. So my night has just been _awesooooooooome!”_ he sang, throwing up some jazz hands. When Sherlock continued to look at him like he was going to bite his head off, he sighed. “Alright, fine.” He let himself go into a slack jawed pout. He rolled his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he mocked. 

”You,” Sherlock whispered. 

Jim snorted. “I think as adults we can both agree on that, so why you felt the need to come down here looking like you saw your mother die or whatever makes people with feelings sad is beyond me.” He flipped his laptop back open. 

Sherlock shifted his weight from foot to foot in anxiety. “You were in an asylum, chained, and bound. I had nowhere to run. You were an animal trying to break me even in my dreams,” Sherlock said lowly, staring at the floor. His fear had graduated to emotional exhaustion. He finally looked up and met Jim’s eye. “I think on some level I’m still afraid of you.” He mussed his hair, trying to dispel his nervous energy. Without another word, he went back to bed. 

If he had looked up, he would have seen Jim’s face soften. He didn’t understand why Sherlock felt this way; it was literally beyond his capabilities -relating. He was no longer the James Moriarty that wanted to burn the heart out of him. He was a terror to the rest of the world, but not here. At least, not like he used to be. 

So why Sherlock had to keep dwelling in the past was just a very stupid concept for Jim, but the idea of Sherlock being terrified of him was absolutely vile, especially _how_ he was terrified of him. Jim ran a hand down his face before banging his head against the table. He didn’t regret any of it. Going toe to toe with Sherlock Holmes was the most fun he ever had. It was the first and only time he was forced to step right up to the edge with someone’s hands on his back, just waiting to be pushed. 

Even though he didn’t regret it, it hurt him to see Sherlock like that and know that he was responsible. So he continued to bang his head, hoping that it would relieve stress. Hopefully the pain would distract him from feeling like a righteous prick. 

”You’re not going to solve anything by acting like a child!” Sherlock called from upstairs. He sounded like his old self. ‘ 

Jim chuckled and rested his forehead on the desk. “I though that’s what you liked about me?” he answered, loud enough so that Sherlock could hear. When Sherlock didn’t answer, he stood up with a sigh. Straightening his jacket, because god forbid he look shabby even if he was by himself, he went to bed. 

He gently knocked on the door with his knuckles. “I’m only knocking out of pity,” he clarified, a small smirk on his lips. “Don’t get use to such consideration. You’re not that special.” His sly smile grew when he heard his boyfriend chuckle. “Can I come in or are you going to be a little bitch about everything?” 

With a small laugh in his voice, he said softly, “Yes, you can come in. Just don’t be a dickhead.” 

”Sherlock, that’s literally my personality. Well, add funny and charming.” 

”You’re such a narcissist.” 

”I’m a psychopath. This is how we doooooooo!” He took his fingers and tapped them on the door as if they were spider legs. 

Sherlock sighed. “Just come in.” 

Jim went to open the door, but his hand hovered over the knob. Would Sherlock have another panic attack if he saw him? As much as Jim wanted the world to know that he was the personification of hell, which he was, he was also very much in love with Sherlock Holmes. His aggressiveness and dominant nature made him incredibly protective, especially because Sherlock was so delicate. The detective would never admit it, of course. But Jim knew. 

”Well don’t just stand there.” 

Finally Jim opened the door. He saw Sherlock sitting up in bed, over the covers with a large book in his lap. His eyes were completely dry and incredibly blue. God, was he pretty. 

”Sit,” he patted the spot next to him. “I want to show you something.” 

Jim began to loosen his tie. “I really don’t trust you after you made me sit through a whole lecture of medicinal fungi.” His tie undone, he slipped it from his neck and shrugged off his blazer into his separate laundry basket. 

Sherlock snorted. “What even makes clothes expensive? They all look the same.” 

Jim ran a sleeve through his fingers. “Better fabric, longer manufacturing time, the psychological value of having a famous designer name attached to it to induce jealousy, and the coup de grâce, screaming that I have so much more many than you.” He shot Sherlock an impish grin. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “It sounds like you’re insecure.” The room was silent as Jim raised an eyebrow. Even Sherlock couldn’t stand behind his insult, thinking about how casually he had sat atop an actual throne dressed head to toe with the crown jewels with the intention of getting caught. Jim must have been thinking the same thing, because they both started to laugh. 

”Alright,” Jim said, planting himself next to Sherlock, “let’s see what nonsense you have for me.” 

Sherlock showed him the cover, _The Big Book of Freaks._ Jim raised his eyebrows. “I actually might like this one.” He took the book and placed it in his lap. “Do you think I’m in here?” He began to flip through the pages with his thumb. He stopped. “That one looks like John,” he tapped on a page. 

It was a picture of “General Tom Thumb,” a man who only grew to 2ft 6.5 inches. 

”You’re not that much taller,” Sherlock chuckled. 

”You’re playing with fire, Sherlock Holmes,” Jim warned as he turned the page. He immediately threw his head back and laughed. 

”Oh, you poor bastard,” Sherlock murmured turning the book so that he could see better. “’Ella Harper was born in 1873 with a condition called congenital genu recurvatum, which caused her knees to bend backward. She was featured in W. H. Harris’s Nickel Plate Circus in 1886, but there are no references to her after,’” he read. The young girl was standing on her hands and what would have been her knees, but since they were backwards, she was on her toes. She was sending them a nasty scowl. 

”I want it,” Jim whined. 

Sherlock shook his head. “People like you set pets on fire at the age of eight,” he said dryly. “Now look at the girl with four legs and two vaginas.” 

Jim gagged and pushed the book away. “My worst nightmare.” 

At this Sherlock quieted, remembering his own nightmare. He looked at his hands, not knowing if he would genuinely keep his sanity if he looked at Jim. 

His actions had not gone unnoticed. Jim blew a raspberry. “Oh, come on. Can’t you just get _over it?”_ he said, maybe a little more harshly than he meant to because Sherlock winced. “So I messed around with you a bit. You’re fine!” He picked up Sherlock’s arm by the wrist and gave it a shake. “All of your dumb friends and brother are fine, which is a _miracle,_ because I _genuinely_ still want to kill them.” 

”You’ll never understand, will you?” Sherlock asked, this time his voice quavered and his eyes shined. “You really did kill me.” 

Jim deflated as the words hit him. “Come here,” he said softly, pressing his love into the crook of his neck. “I’m not sorry for what I’ve done,” he said thoughtfully, “but I am upset that it’s made you feel this way.” 

Sherlock knew that was the most he could get out of James Moriarty. 

And it was enough for him.

**Author's Note:**

> For me, It's important to drive home the fact that Jim, at heart, is truly an awful person. In my opinion, a psychopath of his character can never be "good."
> 
> He loves Sherlock and like I said, is protective of him. But he is still an apathetic lunatic
> 
> [If you like this I have a full story in the works about our beautiful babies.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12110109/chapters/27459420)


End file.
